


Hunger For Power

by dramatic_pause



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom Lee Know, Hyung Kink, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-09 01:30:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15256446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramatic_pause/pseuds/dramatic_pause
Summary: "'What’d you call me?" Minho blurts, dragging his mouth from Chan's skin, so he can blink, high with adrenaline, down at his leader."Minho finds out he has a particular appreciation for Chan calling him hyung.





	Hunger For Power

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Man-Eater](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14530950) by [whiskerprince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskerprince/pseuds/whiskerprince). 



> Inspired by Strayson’s amazing fic “Man-Eater.”

It’s Chan who starts it.

 

Minho isn’t thinking about anything at all. It’s hard to keep his head clear when he’s kissing Chan, and it’s only gotten worse since their debut when they're schedule is so busy and hectic. With the knowledge that their day could change in seconds, Minho's rationality vanishes completely. It leaves him feeling rushed to push Chan down against the bed and kiss against his jaw, pressing his mouth to the soft spot just under his ear that always makes the other jerk and laugh startled delight.

 

“That tickles, hyung,” is what Chan says, the words soft in a gentle voice. But they go through Minho like fire, blazing all his limbs alight, and when he takes a breath, it’s from shock at Chan's words.

 

“What’d you call me?” He blurts, dragging his mouth away from Chan's skin, so he can blink, high with adrenaline, down at the other’s features.

 

Chan turns up to look at him, eyes wide and heat-hazed out of all focus. His gaze drops over Minho's features, his forehead creased in confusion, and when he says, “Hyung?” He sounds confused and faintly concerned as if he’s worried about Minho's reaction. So different from the leader persona he often portrays. 

 

Minho has to shut his mouth on the whimper in his throat, the immediate reaction to the second flare of heat ripping through him. He can see Chan's face start to relax in the first clarity of understanding, but before he can say anything, Minho's speaking over him, saying, “Say it again,” with absolutely no attempt to pull the growl of satisfaction out of his throat.

 

“Hyung,” Chan says again, immediately responsive, and Minho whines, ducks his head to Chan's shoulder as his fingers tighten on the other’s hip. "Do you like the idea of being older than me that much?"

 

Minho doesn’t answer. He’s occupied in kissing Chan's neck again, just along the soft ends of his curly hair and down against the curve of his throat into his loose black t-shirt. His skin is tingling with adrenaline like all his nerve endings have lit up to meet the soft respect in Chan's voice. Chan isn’t moving away, turning his head in submission to Minho's mouth and reaching up to fit his hands against the curve of the other boy’s back.

 

“This is so funny,” Chan huffs, voice starting to strain over what might be laughter. “I bet the kids would find this so funny."

 

“Shut up,” Minho growls against his shoulder. He can feel Chan's breathless laugh against his hair. “Shut up, or I’ll stop.”

 

“Okay,” Chan agrees, compliant as he always is under Minho, and it strikes a spark off Minho too, leaves him breathless and trembling before they’ve even done anything. Feeling the need to recover more than anything else, he leans back, rocks his weight over his heels, and shakes off Chan's hold. While Chan blinks up at him, Minho tosses his head back and adopts the most self-assured tone he can manage.

 

“You’ll do whatever I say,” He says, trying to make it sound more like a demand than a question. He’s not sure he succeeds, but Chan's eyelids flutter, eyes going darker as his chin tips down. “Right?” 

 

Minho figured this out quickly about Chan. He's so infatuated with the dancer that he always complies, no matter their age difference and Chan's leadership position. He lets Minho get away with just about anything, so when Chan says, “Of course, hyung,” Minho should probably be embarrassed at how hot that burns through him. But he's too busy burning from the inside out, red tinting his bare face, from how much he's just as infatuated with the leader.

 

He reaches out for Chan's shirt, shoves roughly at the edge of the fabric, and when he says, “Take this off,” it’s with Chan's obedience assumed underneath the words. 

 

It’s a safe assumption. Chan pushes up on an elbow as soon as Minho speaks, grabbing at the edge of his shirt and dragging it up while Minho tips his weight back so he can get his fingers around Chan's belt buckle. He might feel like he’s turning into an open flame, but Chan's not calm either. Minho can feel him hard against the inside of his jeans as he gets the buckle open, shifts his hold to shove at the button and drag on the metal pull of the zipper. 

 

Chan's shirt moves in his peripheral vision, dark cloth fluttering to the floor, and when Minho looks back up, Chan falls back across the bed, the pale skin of his chest catching the light like it’s a beacon for Minho's eyes. 

 

“Fuck,” Minho blurts, and Chan's eyes flutter with the gentle criticism he would normally offer himself. But he doesn’t say anything, apparently still obeying Minho's demand for silence. It's thrilling too, to have overturned the elder with just one command.

 

Minho hooks his fingers inside Chan's clothes, drags down in one hard motion, and Chan arches up, his back curving into submissive obedience as his clothes come off. 

 

Minho wants to do everything to him, wants to press in against the gentle give of Chan's smile and fit himself between the easy angle of Chan's long legs, but he realizes quickly his own clothes are still own. He leans back instead of forward, drops to sit against the rumpled sheets over the bed, and when he ducks his head to fumble with his fly, Chan laughs and sits up.

 

“Here,” He hears, and there are fingers at Minho's hips, slipping in to take the place of his own hands. “Let me.” Chan's face is too close when Minho looks up, leaning in enough that their hair is catching together. He looks down, watching Chan's mouth instead of his eyes, and it's too much temptation to resist.

 

Minho can practically feel his limited patience slip from his grasp, and when he leans in to press his mouth to Chan's, it’s worth it for the amused heat of the other’s laugh against his lips. It’s quick, after that. Chan's fingers are remarkably dexterous, or maybe Minho is just distracted enough by the way Chan's hair fits against his hands that he doesn’t pay much attention to time passes.

 

It doesn’t matter. Either way, it's just a few moments before there are hands pushing against Minho's hips, feathering sensation out across his stomach as Chan trails his touch down past the waistband of his jeans, which is just enough control Minho is willing to give up. He pulls back, keeps his hold on Chan's hair as he goes, and when he blinks, Chan's eyes are shut, lips half-parted on breathless appreciation. 

 

It makes Minho's skin tingle, tightening his fingers into a fist, and when he says “Back,” it’s in the same tone of command that feels so hot on his tongue. Chan drops back to the bed, head tilting back with the pull of Minho's hand without a flicker of hesitation. For a moment, Minho stares at the curve of his throat turned up in an offer, the clean line of collarbone shifting with his movements.

 

Then he falls to the bed, and Minho lets his hand go, sliding off the mattress entirely so he can push his jeans down and off his hips. His shirt has to go too, twists it up over his head while he tries not to look at the way Chanis watching him, tries not to think about the clear want in the other's gaze. It works, for a minute, but he’s just tossing his shirt aside when Chan takes a breath. Minho knows what he’s going to say well before the pleading “Minho-hyung” hits his ears.

 

“Shit,” Minho whispers this time, drops to a knee so he can fumble under the bed for the bottle he carelessly tossed aside the last time they were alone in Chan's room. He's so glad at this moment that Changbin isn't the nosy type of person to look through Chan's things.

 

Chan interrupts his thoughts laughing over his head, rolling sideways, and reaching out to trail his fingers through Minho's hair. Minho would be irritated about being distracted except that Chan's fingers feel like condensing heat, electricity prickling through him every time they graze over bare skin.

 

“It would be easier if we roomed together like the first dorm," Chan points out just as Minho gets his fingers closed around the slick plastic of the bottle and sits back up with it in his hands. “That way you could clean up after me."

 

 

 “Quiet,” Minho demands, climbs back onto the mattress while clinging to the attempt at a frown on his lips. “Is that any kind of way to talk to your hyung?” That makes Chan laugh, the warm one that curls out over his face and catches the corners of his eyes, and Minho gets the bottle open to spill slick liquid across his fingers and palm. He uses more than he needs, the extra catching at his wrist and smearing against the plastic until it’s hard to steady it enough to get the lid shut.

 

“Sorry,” Chan says, but he’s still smiling, eyes soft as he blinks up at Minho kneeling over him. “It won’t happen again, hyung.”

  

“Yeah,” Minho agrees, reaches out to press his mostly-clean hand against Chan's bare leg. “It had better not.” He’s snapping the words of any force with the grin he can’t hold back, but it hardly matters. Chan is smiling too, shutting his eyes and tipping his head back in expectation. 

 

When Minho fits two fingers into him, the sound he makes is a shaky sigh of relief more than a groan. “I’ll take care of you,” Minho teases,  grin catching on the edge of a laugh as he eases his fingers deeper. Chan's tight around him, shockingly hot as he always is, and the adrenaline of expectation flares into his blood until it’s a struggle to keep his hands steady. “Chan-ah.” 

 

“Chan-ah,” Chan repeats back, laughter surging under the words. “Oh god.” 

 

“Do you not like it?” Minho's grins helplessly, too close to dissolving into laughter to let himself stop talking. He draws his hand back, pushes in again in a slow slide, and Chan's amusement melts into a gasp, his hips rocking up involuntarily like he’s asking for more. “What about Chris-ah, is that better?”

 

It’s hard to say, the shape of Chris's English name, still novel on Minho's tongue. But Chan groans, low and aching like he’s pleading, and Minho doesn’t need to be told to know that’s agreement. “Yeah, okay,” He says, drawing his fingers back to leave Chan shaky and breathless against the bed while he strokes over himself with a quick rush of slippery fingers. “Chris-ah it is.”

 

“God,” Chan breathes, and he reaches up to catch his fingers at the back of Minho's neck to draw him down into a kiss while Minho braces himself on the bed and fits himself in between his leader's legs. “All this power is going to your head.” 

 

Minho grins. “Maybe,” He admits, and when he rocks his weight forward, Chan angles up to meet him. They move slowly as Minho is still a little afraid of hurting Chan even after more than enough experience to the contrary, but Chan makes a low anxious sound of appreciation rather than of pain. He arches his back to press his skin in against Chan's, and whatever thought Minho had of going slow melts away in the space between two breaths.

  
He thrusts in all at once, one slick gliding motion, and Chan falls back to the bed, letting one of his hands fall from Minho's neck so he can reach down and close his fingers around himself. Minho can feel the way the other tightens around him as he starts to stroke up over himself. It makes him grin, bright even though Chan's eyes are shut and there’s no one to see.

  
  
When Minho moves, Chan follows his lead without being told. Minho can see the motion of Chan's hand, the angle of his wrist shifting to match the rhythm of Minho's hips as he thrusts into the other. It’s intoxicating to watch, as if Minho is responsible for controlling the both of them instead of just himself. He ends up rocking back, pulling away from the possibility of Chan's mouth so he can get a better angle over his knees. He pushes one Chan's legs up against his chest and better watch the way they shift and move together.

  
  
“You look good from here,” Chan whispers suddenly. Minho startles at the sound, looks up in a rush of adrenaline, and Chan is watching him,  eyes soft at the corners and lips curved on a smile. His cheeks are flushed too, color staining dark under his skin until Minho wants to reach out and touch it.

  
  
“Hey,” He manages, struggling for an offended tone in contrast to the heat-tension in his throat and rippling up his spine. “Are you--saying I don’t always look good, Chris-ah?” Chan's laugh is radiant, spreading to fill the entirety of the small space until it feels like the air is warmer and Minho's motions are easier and smoother.

 

“Of course not," Chan offers, and it sounds like a hesitant confession, slow and hot in his throat. “I meant it when I said you were the sexist member hyung. ”

  
“Jesus,” Minho blurts, and he has to tip himself forward again,  can’t sustain the self-control needed to stay away. Chan's mouth is soft against him, and Chan turns his head up into the kiss like he expects it before it comes. When he moves faster, it's to match the speed of Chan's hand. 

  
It’s a frantic pace, too rushed to maintain for long, but Minho doesn’t need long. He can feel Chan's breath huffing at his mouth, can hear the sound of respect sliding off Chan's lips, and when Chan arches and gasps under him, it’s only further encouragement. He keeps moving, thrusting hard into Chan like he’s pushing him through the jolting motions of orgasm, and by the time Chan's shuddering aftershocks have faded, Minho is past the point of return.

  
  
Minho slides in faster towards satisfaction warm and huge and inevitable. He feels fingers at the back of his neck, threading into the strands of his hair, and he can hear the breath Chan takes, can anticipate the sound of the word clinging to the other boy’s lips.

  
  
He doesn’t hear it. His orgasm hits first, crushing out into him like a wave in his blood, and if Chan does say it, Minho drowns him out with the groan of "Chris-ah" that pushes up his throat. His head is pressed to Chan's shoulder, fingers pressing indentation into Chan's hip, and all he can hear is laughter, sweet and gentle with more affection than any sound should be able to carry.

  
  
It takes Minho a minute to recover. He’s still breathless by the time Chan shifts under him, and he thinks to move enough to roll sideways so they’re both crushed alongside each other on the mattress.

  
“Minho-hyung,” Chan says, drawing the word slow and overheated so Minho knows he is being teased. “You know I can't call you this all the time.”  
“I know, I know,” Minho agrees, reaches out to push a hand against Chan's face. “I think Chris-ah suits you though.”

  
Fingers close at his wrist, catch his hand away as Chan turns sideways to smile up-close at him. Pressed together close as they are, they nearly fit on the bed in spite of the narrow borders of the sheets.

  
“You can call me whatever you want in here,” Chan says, sincere and slow. “But I just might kill you if you say it in front of the others.”

  
Minho can’t help grinning as he leans in to kiss hard at Chan's careful smile. 

 

* * *

 

_Inspired by Strayson’s amazing fic[“Man-Eater.”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14530950)_

_Also inspired by Lee Know being a[complete](https://youtu.be/UJEZSF0853M?t=22s) [dom](https://youtu.be/UJEZSF0853M?t=1m14s) [over](https://youtu.be/UJEZSF0853M?t=2m31s) Bang Chan, and Chan being totally [whipped](https://youtu.be/GHVaKcXpyZM?t=5m47s) [for him](https://youtu.be/XkrBfciuNPs?t=4m43s)._

**Author's Note:**

> I really like this dynamic between them. Let me know if you want more. <33


End file.
